


Laeti vescimur nos subacturis

by NotPersephone



Series: The Lecter-Du Maurier Family Values [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Count and Countess Lecter, F/M, Fluff and more fluff, The Addams Family references, The Lecter Family bliss, and happy endings, just because i can, plus their daughter, this fandom needs more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Well, actually-” Hannibal interjects, ignoring her tensing in his arms. His eyes tell her he will be more than happy thoroughly apologise for that later.“We wore outfits inspired by Morticia and Gomez to a gala once,” he continues, despite Bedelia’s eyes turning to gas lit flames.





	Laeti vescimur nos subacturis

Deft fingers adjust golden circles of pastry, filled with buttery cinnamon and topped with matching pastry leaves, each a perfect miniature of the foliage lining the ground in their garden. Hannibal’s baking skills are as unmatched as his cooking and he has been broadening them greatly in the last years, since now they are two aficionados of sweet treats. Satisfied with the even arrangement, Hannibal turns to place the remaining tartlets on the plate. Tartlets shaped like pumpkins.

“Really?” Bedelia raises an eyebrow as he finishes setting up the pastries.

“These are for Mira, to celebrate the season. She loves it,” he states simply.

“I don’t think she is the only one,” Bedelia smiles softly, watching the various pumpkins smile back at her from the platter, each one made with detailed precision. Hannibal seems to have really enjoyed making them.

He says nothing, confirming her impression and puts the plate on the tray, next to cups of cherry infused tea.

“I believe we are late for the movie,” he takes the tray and lets Bedelia lead the way out of the kitchen.

“Again, why do allow a five-year-old to select a movie?” she asks as they walk towards the hall.

“It was her turn,” he responds factually and Bedelia ‘s lips curls up in amusement.

“I thought you will happy that she is out of the library and enjoying something else. Even if it is not very stimulating,” he adds, perfectly predicting her next words.

“What I had in mind is her going outside from time to time,” Bedelia presses on, not allowing him to sway her too easily.

“We did, yesterday.”

“You went to the cemetery and left food on the graves,” she says firmly while her eyes narrow.

“Mira wanted to practice before All Saints’ Day.” Hannibal smiles at her and Bedelia wonders, not for the first time, how many children are living here.

Seeing her slight discontent, he leans to press a kiss on her temple, just as they enter the room. They find their daughter assessing the placement of the sofa in front of the screen, nose scrunched as she makes sure it is just right. She turns at once when she hears them come in, locks spilled over her shoulder, elation pouring from her amber eyes.

“ _Pagaliau_ ,” she gives them a look of s seasoned hostess, annoyed with her guests’ late arrival, quite a feat for a petite girl.

“What are we watching?” Bedelia asks as Hannibal places the pastries and drinks on the table.

“The Addams Family,” Mira announces, proud of her choice and Bedelia swallows a groan.

“Mama, please sit here and Papa, here,” she points to the precisely assigned spots on the sofa.

“I would like to sit down next to Mama, if you don’t mind,” Hannibal asks, giving Bedelia a meaningful side glance. He knows it is not her choice of entertainment and hopes to make it more bearable with a few stolen caresses.

Mira falls silent as she considers the sudden change to her carefully thought out evening.

“ _D’accord_ ,” she announces her verdict and sits down on the sofa herself, straightening her ruby dress, “Please play the movie, Papa.”

Bedelia takes her seat while Hannibal starts the projector and then joins her, his arm reaching around her shoulder. Mira smiles excitingly as the opening titles light up the screen and Bedelia makes herself comfortable in her husband’s embrace. His hidden fingers play a gentle glissando down the line of her back, making good on his silent promise; Bedelia’s head rests on his shoulder with a soft sigh of contentment slipping pass her lips.

“You are not watching,” their daughter’s firm voice brings them back to the present moment. They turn their heads to meet the disapproving expression in her eyes.

“I am sorry. We are watching now,” Hannibal says with exaggerated contrition.

Mira gives them one final stern stare, before her attention shifts back to the movie. Bedelia and Hannibal keep their promise, now looking at the screen and not at each other, but their gazes focus more on their daughter, captivated by the movie, wide-eye and smiling.

“Our home is similar to theirs,” she states after a moment, somehow pleased with the resemblance.

“Luckily with less sharp objects. At least in sight,” Bedelia comments, making Hannibal smile in turn and tighten his embrace.

Their daughter is visibly enjoying the movie, her laughter frequently cutting through the dialogues; she seems particularly enthralled each time Wednesday Addams appears on the screen.

“I like her. She is smart,” she comments at last, “I would like to dress up as her for the party.”

The costume party for children in the nearby town marks a growing impact of Halloween marketing, but Mira was thrilled with the invitation. Hannibal was reluctant to allow her to participate, afraid of her safety, but Bedelia convinced him it would be good for her to play more.

“Are you sure, _mylimasis_?” he now asks hesitantly, not wanting to reveal his disappointment in such a simple costume choice. Bedelia is certain he has at least three elaborate outfits hidden away in the depths of their wardrobe. But now he has fallen victim to his own influence over her. Bedelia presses her lips to hide her smile.

“Yes,” Mira nods and takes a pumpkin shaped tart from the plate as though to award herself for the excellent choice.

The movie continues as she savours her treat, still attentively studying the characters on the screen.

“Gomez loves Morticia as much you love Mama,” she turns to Hannibal with another thorough observation.

“ _Almost_ as much,” Hannibal specifies and Bedelia tries not to raise an incredulous eyebrow.

“Perhaps you can dress up as them then,” a sudden notion springs in her always keen imagination.

“We do not like dressing up, _ch_ _èrie_ ,” Bedelia explains calmly, ending the discussion before it evolves into something difficult to manage.

“Well, actually-” Hannibal interjects, ignoring her tensing in his arms. His eyes tell her he will be more than happy to thoroughly apologise for that later.

“We wore outfits inspired by Morticia and Gomez to a gala once,” he continues, despite Bedelia’s eyes turning to gas lit flames.

“When was that?” Mira is on the edge of her seat now, listening intensely, the movie reduced to nothing more than a background noise.

“When we were in Florence. Your mother was opposed to the idea at first, but she looked stunning. It was a wonderful night.”

Mira smiles, drinking it his every word; she adores the stories of their relationship, it is her favourite fairy tale.

“Do you still have the costumes?” she asks, a sudden glimmer of hope illuminating her eyes.

“No, we don’t. It was a long time ago,” Bedelia responds at once, before Hannibal gets a chance to complicate the situation further. The glow in Mira’s face dims significantly as the obstacle crushes the idea blossoming in her mind.

A moment of silence gives Bedelia false hope that the conversation is finally over. But, of course, she is not that lucky.

“We can always order them again,” Hannibal says, his tone nonchalant with just a hint of smugness.

Instantly, Bedelia wishes they were sharp objects at hand. But Mira’s face lights up immediately, brighter than before.

“Could you get them? For the party, so we can all wear them together,” her words are rushed as she can no longer wait to voice her idea.

She looks at them with pleading eyes, golden brown shimmering, the stare Bedelia knows Hannibal is unable to resist. He turns to her then, his eyes making their own appeal, the same shade of brown she cannot resist.

“All right,” Bedelia concedes, “But, remember, I am not wearing a wig.”

Her unyielding eyes rest on her husband, allowing no more settlements.

“I don’t want to wear a wig either,” their daughter proclaims with a solemn gaze that perfectly mirrors her mother’s.

 Hannibal looks between them both with utter adoration.

 

Despite her quiet hope, the outfits arrive two days later; Hannibal’s ability to obtain anything remains unbeaten. Bedelia barely glimpses at the dress before putting it away in her wardrobe, wanting to forget about its existence.

The All Saints’ Eve comes all too soon and Mira’s enthusiasm can be barely contained as she runs across the castle’s halls, eager to start preparations for the evening. The castle soaks up her ardour; walls seem to vibrate in equal anticipation, imbuing the air with pleasant warmth, glowing softly with the colours of the seasons.

The jack-o-lantern smiles widely from the windowsill, candle flickering playfully in the excited eyes as Bedelia sits next to her daughter and arranges her long locks in two matching braids. Mira is surprisingly still, her fervour momentarily on hold, quietly writing words in a notebook. Bedelia smiles, seeing her concentration and the dedication with which she puts each letter down, ensuring they are of even size and straight. She continues to cross her soft curls, not giving much attention to the words themselves until her eyes catch one of them; her hands stop as she reads the whole sentence, it is in Latin, but not quite right.

“What is that?” she asks her daughter, sensing Hannibal’s doings.

“ _Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc_ ,” she recites at once, clearly having practised a lot, “The Addams Family credo.”

“And do you know what it means?” Bedelia asks, taken by her dedication.

“Yes, _we gladly feast on those who would subdue us_ ,” she continues with ease, “but Papa said it is not correct. He said it should be this,” she shows Bedelia a piece of paper with Hannibal’s easily recognised flourish cursive and the more accurate translation into Latin.

“But I like this one,” Mira concludes and finishes working on her writing.

Bedelia ties ribbons on the bottom of the braids and straights them down her back with the last caress.

“All done.”

Mira rushes to look in the mirror, eyes shining and wide, as she inspects her hair, head turning from side to side, making the braids swing behind her, then runs back to hug Bedelia.

“ _Ačiū mama_. I can’t wait to see how you will look.” 

A minuscule frown tugs at Bedelia’s lip, but she says nothing.

 

She scrutinises the dress, laid out on the bed, like a relic from another time. She remembers that night well, she remembers them all, their vision of Florence forever imprinted in her mind, but no longer hidden away to conceal the nostalgia. Now it feels like a prelude of their adventure together. Still, she is reluctant to put on the dress. She has forgotten how tight fitting it was.

“I know you don’t like it, but it is just for a few hours. It will make Mira happy,” Hannibal’s voice sounds behind her, nimble fingers moving to brush away the hair from her neck and gently stroke her sensitive spot. A shudder rushes down her spine and she sighs softly.

“It is not that,” she turns to look at him; his eyes are adoring and keen to ease any discomfort she might be feeling.

Well, not _entirely_ that.

“What it is then?” his brow furrows.

Bedelia presses her lips and takes a deep breath before replying.

“It has been a long time,” she admits with obvious reluctance, “A lot of things have happened since the last time I wore this dress.”

She falls silent, not wanting to fully voice her concern; she does not want to be the woman overly focused on her appearance. Hannibal smiles gently, fully aware that she is talking about the birth of their daughter.

“You look better than ever,” he sneaks his hand on the small of her back and pulls her closer. Bedelia’s frown lessens but does not disappear completely.

“Besides,” he strives to dissipate her doubts, “we have our ways to stay in shape.” A playful gleam in his eyes is immediately followed by a lingering kiss pressed to the hollow of her throat.

It is an overworked phrase, but Bedelia smiles despite herself, his words and touch warming her instantly.

“I will let you get dressed,” he whispers and, to her dismay, his lips abandon her skin. He exits the room, leaving her nothing to do but to get ready.

Bedelia straightens her hair and applies her make up first, saving the dress for the very end. She slips it on swiftly, trying not to think about her apprehension, and only when she zips it all the way up, she finally takes a cautious look in the mirror. She smiles at herself; it fits perfectly.

_Was it looking so good on her the last time?_

Her hands trace the curves of her body clad in black fabric, clinging to her like second skin. She stares at her reflection longer than necessary, allowing herself this moment of brazen vanity.

“ _Bellisima_.”

Bedelia turns to find Hannibal standing in the door, glaring at her with evident hunger, not caring to hide it. She appraises him in return; the striped jacket she has recalled so well still looking strangely handsome on him. He walks over to her vanity and takes the make-up pencil.

“Would you like to apply the finishing touch?” he hands her the pencil and sits down on the chair, eagerly awaiting her attention.

She will not admit it, but she has been looking forward to doing this; she is about to perch on the chair next to him, but Hannibal wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her on his lap. The questioning raise of her eyebrow is met with a smug smile as his hand now caresses the curve of her spine.

“Sit still or it will be crooked,” she chastises him, but enjoys his attention nonetheless, “You do not want to look _ridiculous_.”

Yet, even despite her reservations, she likes the way he looks. Her thumb skims across his cheek, careful not to smudge his new “moustache”. Hannibal takes her hand and presses a kiss on her wrist.

“ _Cara mia_ ,” he whispers fervently against her skin, making her chuckle. But it is drowned out by a blissful laughter ringing from the doorway and echoing across the walls.

They turn and see their daughter, all smiles and thrilled for the evening to come, her braids now paired with a white collared black dress.

“Just like Morticia and Gomez,” she exclaims with joy, for once not opposed to their display of affection.

And to her surprise, Bedelia does not mind the comparison; her fingers make final adjustments to his sleek-back hair and she gently kisses his lips.

“But we should go now,” Mira states firmly, cutting the kiss short, “We don’t want to be late, that would be _rude_.”

Hannibal chuckles and releases Bedelia from his embrace. Their daughter leads the way out of the bedroom, turning at times to ensure that her parents follow her steps, her serious face matching her outfit in a perfect image of the young Addams. But the solemnity does not last long; as soon as they reach the main door, Hannibal scoops her up in his arms and she laughs anew, small fingers tracing his moustache with obvious delight.

Bedelia slips her hand under his other arm and gives him a careful regard as he pulls her closer to him. The evening might prove to be pleasurable after all.

“Yes?” Hannibal asks, meeting her avid stare.

“Later, my dearest,” Bedelia declares, making his eyes flicker lustfully in response.

The heavy door closes behind them with Mira’s laughter still resonating along the castle walls long after they are gone.

**Author's Note:**

> The credit for Mira goes to Lena/ awayfromsight who has trusted me with the character and suggested this idea. Honestly it is such a perfect name for a bedannibal child: wonder in Latin, so very fitting.  
> The Lithuanian words used here: pagaliau means at last, mylimasis = sweetie/darling, Ačiū = thank you. Damn these multilingual people (and damn Hannibal for not being Polish instead).  
> Bedelia's last sentence is a quote from the movie (not something she would normally say, but she got into the spirit of the evening). The title is Hannibal's accurate version of the Addams' credo.  
> This story was definitely outside my comfort zone, my first attempt of portraying their daughter, I was trying my best to keep it all in character, but I know it is not for everyone. Apparently my Lecter Castle stories are too "magical happy ever after" for some and I have just pushed it further. So if you read it and enjoyed it, thank you!  
> This series has now truly become The Lecter-Du Maurier Family Values.


End file.
